“What’s wrong?” Hal asked.
“Smit.” She already had the reins in hand and began to lead Belisarius out. “Come on.”
Hal grabbed the reins of the horse he had picked out and followed. “That doesn’t tell me anything.”
“I was suspicious,” she said as she led the horse through the city streets. “The men,” she almost spat the word, “even Fons, could see only a man who’d lost his nerve and wanted reinforcements here, so he would not die at the wall when the Provis came back. You saw the way they looked at him. But if they were thinking, they would have seen what was wrong. Your merchant knew nothing of the plan for Verplanck’s troops. He could not have known that if we sent Verplanck to block the Lobsters we would risk having the Provis re-take Nieuw Amsterdam. And then, when we refused Smit’s urging to stick with the original plan, you saw how he changed. All business, and only interested in how we would get the message to Verplanck. A coward does not give up his hysteria in an instant. I tracked him down, followed him. He was sending a message to Massachusetts about our plans. I can’t be sure he was always Boston’s man, but I think so. You know the little messenger.”
Hal sucked in a deep breath. “The Pincher?” he hissed.
“The same. It seems none of us, not even I, realized how many people he was taking money from.”
“But the Pincher? Smit is sending him to Massachusetts?”
“No, of course not.” Bel shook her head. “The Pincher will give the information to a group of men north of the main wall. Smit was obviously not willing to go himself, and the Pincher is good at just this sort of thing.”
“But you stopped them. That was what took you so long.” Hal held his breath and hoped.
“Major Smit will trouble us no more,” Bel said with finality. “But the Pincher? He knows this fort, it seems, places only a child could wriggle through. I do think we know how Jacob ten Eyck passed our secrets to the Provis.” She spat to the side. “No, the Pincher got away.”
The city had slipped back into night, lit here and there by the still-glowing embers of burned houses. They picked their way slowly through the streets.
“This is hopeless, then,” Hal said. “They’ll have our plans.”
“No,” Bel replied. “They may know we are going, but they do not know the route we will take. Smit’s contacts here will learn what we plan for the Army of the North, but that message still needs to reach the Lobsters. If our men can hold Nieuw Amsterdam long enough for Verplanck to block the Lobsters and then send help here, this will still work. We just need to get through, and do it quickly.”
Hal thought there were too many ifs and too many small chances that had to come out just right, but what other choice existed?
• • •
In the still darkness before the dawn, Hal and Bel waited with their horses at the East River bastion. A blaring trumpet split the stillness, followed by the sound of gunshots. Hal pictured it as a game: an orange-coated unit, their sleeves covered in black, bursting from the main gate of the city wall, overrunning the Provi sentries, then striking the Provi lines. Sleepy men would reach for swords and muskets but be struck down before they could draw or fire. The attackers would fire the barricades and supply wagons. As if triggered by his thoughts, a huge blast rattled windows on nearby houses. That could only be wagons loaded with powder that had been fired and erupted like a bomb. The Provis would rally, though, so heavily did they outnumber the attackers. Lost ground would be re-taken and the attackers driven back to the gate.
But, while all of that was happening, Hal and Bel were on their way.
They coaxed their horses through the small opening of the postern gate, barely big enough for a horse. Then, sure they had not been observed, they led the horses into the bush and bramble between the wall and the slum. It took much longer to get the horses through the thorny thickets than it had taken Hal to walk through on foot. In that time, they heard the noise from the direction of the main gate reach a crescendo, then die away. By the time they emerged into the streets of the slum it was late, far later than was safe, for the sounds of fighting at the main gate had stopped.
“Turn toward the river,” Bel whispered. “I hear guards up this street, but they won’t have every street covered. Not out here.”
Indeed, Hal could hear the clank of weapons too. As they moved to the right, they saw a fire in the intersection of two streets, with guards warming themselves at it. They slunk around the shacks, looking for an open avenue to the north. At least the streets in this poor neighborhood were packed earth rather than stone, so the horses went quietly. They skirted yet another guard post and turned north to a broad avenue. At first it looked clear, then a shout rang out ahead of them.
“Ahoy, ahoy! Two rebels with horses. Shoot them down!”
There was no mistaking that voice. It was the Pincher.
“Verdomd!” Bel’s voice was clear—there was no value now in a whisper. “That imp of Hades has followed us! There must be money he can claim if we are killed. Ride north as fast as you can!”
Hal kicked, then grabbed frantically at the pommel as the horse jumped and bolted up the street. If he was not fully in control, at least he stayed in the saddle to spur the horse up the avenue. There were shouts from the direction of the Provis—the sound, too, of ramrods driving home. Shots erupted into the night. Hal flinched, although nothing touched him.
“They’re riding north!” That was the Pincher again, from a spot ahead of them.
There was another volley of shots. Another yell started from the Pincher, this one ending in a scream. As Hal’s horse carried him up the road, he saw a small form sprawled on the ground. Some justice, Hal thought. He wished that he had had fewer scruples before, when Bel had suggested that killing the Pincher would be wise. Too late for that now.
The sound of more horses on the road came from behind him. Hal clung to his horse and kicked hard. Shots came from behind. He only hoped that he was able to keep the animal headed north on the twisting streets. At some point he became separated from Bel and hoped she had not been hit.
It seemed an eternity before Hal saw the houses thin out and the woods ahead. He had indeed come out to the north, although his path had not been a straight one. He had spent hours riding around the streets of northern Nieuw Amsterdam, but at least the Provis were gone. The light of dawn could be seen chasing away the stars in the eastern sky. Where was Bel?
He could not worry about that at the moment. It was most important to put as much distance as possible between him and the city, to reach a point where he could be just a woodsranger with an odd accent looking to get away from the fighting. Should he try to find Fort Orange and this General Verplanck on his own?
The idea that a major war might depend on what he did was hard to grasp, but he had said he would carry this message. That was enough reason to try.
He let the horse find its own path into the woods. It was slow going, not because the ground was difficult, but because the horse saw any tuft of grass poking through the snow as an attractive snack. He continued in this way until it was almost fully light, then Hal heard a whinny behind him. His back tensed, but nothing struck him.
He drew the revolver Bel had given him as he turned the horse around. Maybe this was some early morning rider on business of his own who could be scared away.
Fifty yards back in the direction of the city, Bel sat on her horse.
Hal slumped forward in the saddle. He felt like his muscles were ready to give way. “Why didn’t you say something?” he almost whispered when she caught up. “You scared me half to death.”
“Better halfway to death than all the way,” she replied. “I feared that if I came up too fast, you might shoot.”
“Even if I did, there’s no risk I’d hit you.” At the quizzical expression on her face, he changed the topic. “How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t hard. You made no attempt to cover your tracks once you left the city. Despite this we ha
ve, I think, lost our pursuers. There will be water not far ahead, both for us and our horses. It’s only a few more miles to Haarlem.”
Bel led them north another mile or so to a small glade. Snow still covered the shaded parts, but the center, lit by the morning sun, was snow-free. They dismounted to let the horses crop the grass. Bel pulled a pair of canteens from the pack on her horse and dangled them from a leather strap.
“The stream is down the hill on the right.” She pointed in that direction. “I used more than I expected during the night and it will be a long day in the saddle. I’m sure it is the same for you.”
Actually, Hal had not touched his water during the night ride, had never thought to do so. Talking about water, though, made him suddenly thirsty. A good drink and full canteens made sense. He took her canteens and one from his own pack and headed in the direction she had indicated. Once he started down the slope, he could hear the brook. In his hurry, a misplaced foot on snow-covered leaves sent him sliding, then tumbling, the rest of the way down. Fortunately, there had been no one to see his clumsiness. His pants and the back of his jacket were wet from the snow, but if that was the worst of it, he would not complain.
A noise from the grove where he had left Bel froze him in place. What had it been? A shout? A scream? Immediately, he forgot about the water. He scrambled back across the snowy ground to the slope he had come down, noises from the glade above spurring him on. Trying to move quickly and quietly, he did neither. The canteens clinked together, so he left them at the bottom of the slope.
When Hal reached the top, he saw Bel on the ground between two men in Provi uniforms. A lasso pinned her arms to her sides, with more loops of rope wrapped around her to keep her from getting loose. As Hal crept to the edge of the trees, one of the men managed to push a leather hood down over her head. Arms bound and unable to see, still she kicked out. It was futile. The man who had pulled the hood over her head leaned forward and pressed her shoulders into the ground.
The other man laughed. “I roped her,” he proclaimed. “I get her first. You go second.”
At the words, Bel re-doubled her efforts to land a kick, to no avail. The first man got to his feet, laughed, and started to unfasten his belt.
Hal swallowed hard. He knew he had to do something, knew exactly what would happen if he didn’t. He pulled out the revolver, looked at Bel flailing between the two men, and jammed it back under his belt. He would hit the men only by chance. It was at least as likely that he would hit Bel. He drew his sword instead, felt the fear in his stomach, tried to ignore it.
He gathered his feet under him and prayed he would not slip again. The man opening his pants was not that far from the trees where Hal crouched.
With a blood-curdling scream Hal took two quicks steps, then extended his sword arm and launched the most desperate flunge he had ever tried. As his back foot came forward, he drove off his front foot with such force that he felt he had gone airborne. The man with his pants open turned around in astonishment. Hal was a missile with a sword point for a warhead. The extended sword, with all the momentum of his body behind it, slammed through the man’s chest so fast that the chest rebounded from the guard. The man was dead before he hit the ground.
The second man let go of Bel and grabbed the pistol in his belt, but as he was cocking the hammer Hal spun and slashed at his throat. Blood spurted out of his neck. Vainly, he tried to stop the bleeding by clamping a hand over it. Then he dropped to the ground as well, his blood forming a dark red puddle beneath him.
Hal stood in the glade, chest heaving. Then he bent over and used his sword to cut the rope binding Bel’s arms. Once her hands were free, she ripped the leather pouch from her head, jumped to her feet and drew her sword in a single motion. Her eyes were wide, with the same wild look Hal remembered from the night at the Wycliff house. Sounds came from her mouth, but no words. One stride brought her to the first man Hal had killed. She thrust her sword into the dead man’s groin three times, wordlessly yelling as she did. She pulled the sword free from the last one, then stabbed indiscriminately into the body, abdomen, chest, leg, arm—over and over, any place she could reach.
“Bel, it’s over, he’s dead.”
At the words, she spun in a crouch, sword point toward Hal. Her mouth was open as far as the scar on her right would allow. She looked like a coiled spring. Hal realized he was still holding his sword out. Abruptly, he tossed his sword to the side, then folded his arms across his chest.
“It’s just me. Just Hal,” he said.
Bel’s mouth closed with a growl. The wildness left her face. She straightened, then cleaned her sword on the clothes of the man at her feet and sheathed it. “You are so clumsy in the woods,” she snapped. “I thought all the noise was you. I wasn’t paying attention as I normally would. They got me from the trees with a lasso.”
Hal decided it was a poor time to argue about whether his noise in the woods was responsible for what had happened. “How did they find us? I thought we had lost them.”
“I told you that you hadn’t covered your tracks.”
“And I said you should have left me in Nieuw Amsterdam,” Hal snapped. Stop it, he told himself. This is not helping. “What do we do now?” he asked. “What about the horses?”
Indeed, Belisarius was waiting for Bel at the edge of the glade, but Hal’s horse was gone. The Provis must have come on horseback but there was no sign of those horses, either.
“Belisarius cannot carry both of us,” Bel said, “not for any real distance. We also cannot walk to Fort Orange. We need another horse.”
“You said we are near Haarlem.”
Bel nodded.
“I may know a place where we can get one.”
29
The Army of the North
IT WAS AFTERNOON before they found someone who would direct them to the farm of Black John Oort. During that time Bel said nothing, just rode along on Belisarius while Hal walked. The farm was north of Haarlem. The town itself seemed peaceful, citizens going about their business with no sign of soldiers, weapons or barricades. The fact that a siege, and possibly a pitched battle, was underway less than a dozen miles south could not be told from what they saw.
Oort’s farm was a prosperous one, a well-built two-story main house with shingles for siding. A large barn and other outbuildings were also visible from the road. They found Oort in the barn, tending to a horse that had thrown a shoe. He looked up at the two of them, first in surprise, then in recognition as he stared at Hal.
“I remember you from Nassau City,” Oort said, “although I could swear you were wearing Swedish colors then. You’ll forgive me if your name escapes me at the moment.”
Hal breathed a sigh of relief. He had been dreading that Oort would simply order them off his land. “I was then, and that’s a bit of a story. My name is Hal Christianson. You helped me then and I’m hoping you can help us now. I can buy the beer, if you like.”
Oort grinned at that. “Yes, I remember buying the beer and I’m sure I offered to help anytime. My wife will surely remind me that I do that everywhere but with her housework. Come to the house, have something to eat and drink, and tell me your tale of woe.” He looked over at Bel. “Your name?”
“Bel.”
When nothing followed that single word, Oort shrugged. “Maybe a little food and drink will loosen your tongue.”
Oort led the way to the house, where his wife Monique, a very stout woman as pale white as Black John was black, ushered them to a table. An array of children was scattered around and in the house, ranging from a young man of at least twenty years, who was re-attaching a blade to a hoe, to a baby in a bassinet. Monique put a generous slice of pie and a mug of beer in front of each, then went to quiet the baby, who had started to cry. Between bites of pie, Hal gave Oort a sanitized version of the last two days.
“So, that’s our problem,” Hal finished. “We need to reach General Verplanck, but we’ll need another horse to do so.”
&nbs
p; Oort pushed his hands up into his bushy beard. “General Eugen Verplanck, is it? You are going to the man in the most difficult position in Nieuw Netherlands, and you are going to ask him for help?”
“The most difficult position in Nieuw Netherlands?” Hal repeated. “Why would you say that?”
Oort laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Because the Provis gave him an army with half the units English and half of them Dutch. They’re as likely to make war on themselves as anyone else.”
“That sounds stupid.”
“Depends on what you’re afraid of.” Oort leaned across the table on his elbows. “Verplanck is Dutch, of course, but he swore to the Provis when the old governor was foolish enough to cashier Verplanck’s son over an argument with one of the grand patroon families. Over a girl, it was. That was stupid. Verplanck was once the governor’s most loyal general, descended from a line of loyal generals of Nieuw Netherlands. His grandfather commanded the Army of the North in the Ten Years’ War and died blocking the Lobsters on the upper Hudson in 1962. His ancestors marched in the Dutch drive on Boston in the War of 1870 that ended in blood and tears at Concord. He may have sworn to the Provis, but they would never completely trust him. So, Eugen Verplanck commands the Army of the North at Fort Orange a hundred and fifty miles from here, and that will be as the crow flies, and he must spend his time keeping the peace among his troops. I’ll bet he’s had a bellyful of the Provis by now.” Oort laughed again, this time a real, deep laugh. “What do you expect Eugen Verplanck to do?”
“That is for us to discuss with him,” Bel said. Those were her first words since they had left the barn. The pie and mug of beer sat untouched in front of her.
All at once, the amiability left Oort’s face. “The lady seems irritable,” he said. “Perhaps it is a bad time of the month.”
“It could be any time of the month,” Hal said. Oort laughed at that and relaxed again, which was what Hal wanted, but the murderous look on Bel’s face made him regret the jape regardless.
Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal Page 31